


put the world in balance

by elegantstupidity



Series: like a young saint [1]
Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-09-01 04:11:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8606887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elegantstupidity/pseuds/elegantstupidity
Summary: a slip of the tongue (in both senses)





	

**Author's Note:**

> happy sinning sunday, everyone!

It is, in spite of current discussion, just locker room talk. Real locker room talk, which is mostly dirty jokes and ribbing each other for errors on the field. (After all, they can’t have kangaroo court every day, and sometimes a guy’s got to learn to hit his cutoff.) The locker room is for strategy sessions and enough post-game analysis to compete with FS1. Which, of course, isn’t to say that things don’t get crass or vulgar or whatever other words Miss Manners would use to describe the antics of the San Diego Padres.

Who gives a shit? They’re ballplayers, not gentlemen.

Which is precisely why, when Ginny Baker gets called up, Mike doesn’t make a point of knocking heads together and reminding his team of animals to watch their mouths around the girl. He’s not their dad.

If Mike starts choosing his own words more carefully, that’s his own damn business, isn’t it?

Of course, learning that Ginny Baker can give as good as she can get, maybe that gets him to let down his guard. A little. Not enough to see her as one of the guys—look at the girl; she’s most clearly _not_ a guy—but enough to treat her like one. Mostly. 

So, while he knows it’s just locker room talk, Mike still can’t quite say how he got _here._  

 _Here_ being a shouting match with Ginny Baker in the otherwise deserted Padres Clubhouse. Specifically, a shouting match in which he just said: “If you don’t like it, you can just suck my dick, Baker.”

To which she responded: “Okay.”

Mike’s frozen, unsure if his brain is malfunctioning or he’s dreaming or what because there’s no way Ginny Baker just agreed to blow him. He can’t count the number of times he’s ended an argument with those exact words and never once heard an agreement. This is entirely uncharted territory.

“Okay,” she says again, jaw set and annoyance flashing in her eyes as she advances on him. Mike backs up a step and only stops when his shoulders hit cinderblock. She continues, eating up the space between them. It’s incredibly hot, even as she scowls at him. “Is that how it works? I go down on you and you agree to stop being such a miserable asshole?”

Right. That’s how their shouting match started. 

He’s been moping since the trade to Chicago fell through, lashing out and being a general dick to anyone who so much as looks at him the wrong way. Mostly, that ends up being Ginny, who just doesn’t know when to leave well enough alone. 

Moping about the failed trade, of course, dredges up the reasons why Mike Lawson, vocal Padres lifer, had wanted to leave in the fist place. Namely, his hugely inconvenient tangle of _feelings_ for Ginny Baker. 

Maybe that explained his slip of the tongue. Trying to suppress all his romantic and sexual feelings for his rookie had to wear thin at some point. It was bound to come out, right? He was just frustrated. He doesn’t literally want her to suck his dick.

Except. He does. He really, really does.

Rather than explain any of that, he stutters, “Baker, I—”

But then she’s dropping to her knees, clever fingers wrapping into the waistbands of his sweats and boxers. She looks up at him with her wide, brown eyes and her tongue darts out to wet her lips and _shit_. If he wasn’t hardening already, that would do him in. 

His head thunks back against the unforgiving wall. 

“I’m not hearing a ‘No,’ but I’d appreciate a, ‘Yes, Ginny, I’ll stop being such an unbelievable dick if you blow me,’” she snarks from somewhere near his hips. Her fingers, restlessly curling and unfolding in his waistband, belie her confidence. 

Mike doesn’t quite call her bluff. Can’t bring himself to. “That’s a pretty tall order for one blowjob. You that good with your mouth or are you all talk?”

When he finally looks back down at her, her expression has hardened, the way it does when Al wants to pull her from the game and she wants to prove herself. And, okay. That’s the last time he’ll be thinking about their manager for the time being. “Let’s just see what you have to say when I’m done with you, okay, old man?”

Since there’s no way that Mike is going to say no to that particular proposition, he nods. 

Immediately, her fingers yank down, exposing his semi-hard dick to the cool air. 

Ginny stares for a long moment and Mike isn’t sure whether he wants to puff up or wither under her scrutiny. His body decides for him, cock hardening so it bobs slightly between them. She’s so fucking close, it would be easy to twine his fingers into her hair and urge her forward. His mouth practically waters at the thought. That feels too heavy-handed with the delicate way her head tilts, just ever so slightly, as she takes him in, though. 

When she looks up at him, eyes widened in surprise or awe or—God forbid—hunger, Mike forces himself to keep his hands to himself. It’s easy to forget that she’s angry at him when she looks like that. Easy to forget that this is a one-time thing.

Mike lets himself forget. He rucks up the bottom of his shirt, pulls it tight across his stomach so the fabric doesn’t get in the way of his view. 

And _Jesus H. Christ._  What a fucking view it is. 

Ginny’s gotten over her surprise—Mike knows he’s got a big dick. He’s never gotten into a measuring contest, except, yes. He has. What can he say? He’s spent 15 years in an industry dominated by alpha males, of course they’re going to figure out who’s got the biggest dick—and traces her fingers up the slight curve of his shaft. Mike bites off a moan because how fucking embarrassing would it be to lose his cool at the faintest whisper of touch?

Her eyes dart up to his as her fingers continue their maddening trail up and down his dick. 

“Too much for you to handle, Baker?” he asks, mostly hoping to goad her into putting her money where her mouth is. Or her mouth where her mouth said it would be. 

Her eyes narrow at the challenge and, without breaking eye contact, she removes her hand from him and raises it to her mouth. What follows is the single hottest thing Mike Lawson can remember ever seeing, which he thinks says a lot about his current level of sexual frustration. 

(The fact that it’s Ginny is probably 90% of why it’s working so well since about 99% of his sexual frustration is directly tied up in her.)

Obscenely, Ginny licks a wet stripe up her palm and between her fingers. Watching her tongue poke out between the V of her fingers has Mike leaning even harder into the wall behind him. Still, he can’t take his eyes off her, not when she closes her lips around her fingers and sucks, cheeks hollowing out. His abs clench and his dick sways in interest. Mike grinds his teeth to keep from begging.

When her slick fist clamps around him, the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding rushes out in a sharp grunt. Her mouth curls in a self-satisfied smirk, which he guesses she deserves. Even though her grip is too tight and she’s hardly even moved her hand. It’s still working for him. Really, really working. If only because he’s in way over his head with this whole Ginny Baker situation.

That’s when all rational thoughts fly out of his head. He sees it coming from a mile away, watches her lean in, but it’s still something of a surprise. It’s still enough to make him feel like a teenager again, fumbling around in the backseat of a car. Or, it would if he were capable of higher brain function. He’s definitely not. Because Ginny finally puts her mouth against him, not quite sucking. It’s more of an open-mouthed kiss, but—

 _Fuck_. Mike’s mind nearly implodes at the wet warmth of her lips. Her tongue flicks along his head and she hums, the faint buzz tightening his belly and balls. He’s never going to be able to listen to her terrible Katy Perry renditions without thinking of this moment. To be fair, he won’t be able to do a lot of things without thinking of this moment, but listening to her hum is going to be torture from here on out. 

Ginny goes quiet and Mike wants to sag with relief. He would if the tension racking up inside would let him. He tilts his head up to the ceiling to try and gain some semblance of control, but gives it up as a lost cause when her tongue swirls around his tip. 

He goes back to watching this wet dream come to life. Ginny’s not looking up at him anymore, too focused on working her perfect fucking mouth down his shaft, but Mike doesn’t tear his eyes away. Her lips stretch and she bobs down, her tongue sliding against the underside of his dick. His fingers itch to tangle in her hair, not to urge her deeper, but just to touch her, reassure himself that this is real. When his head bumps against the back of her throat, Ginny sputters and has to pull off. 

Without his permission, one of his hands reaches down to smooth over the top of her head. Ginny leans into the pressure, takes a deep breath, and falls back on him with renewed vigor. 

“Shit!” he finally curses as her tongue flutters on the underside of him, just where the shaft meets the head. Her spit-slick hand continues to jack the bottom of his dick even as her lips split in a grin regardless of her full mouth. 

She licks her lips, sloppy in a way he isn’t used to seeing, before taking him back inside. Usually Ginny is the epitome of control. Even when she loses her temper, there’s a restraint to her that makes her all the more terrifying. He’d be lying if he said it isn’t a huge turn on to see her let loose.

Her mouth on his cock might be helping matters, too, though.

In spite of himself, his hips buck and Ginny’s eyes widen as his cock digs deeper into her mouth. Her cocky grin vanishes and she applies herself again. Cheeks hollow, tongue flutters, hand strokes. It’s hard to say what sets him off, aside from Ginny herself, but before Mike knows what hits him, the pressure’s building, building, building, and finally blowing out in an explosive wave. His vision fucking shorts out, the climax hits him so hard. Dimly, he’s aware that Ginny’s still got her mouth on him, tongue and cheeks working to ease the last of his come from his softening dick. He groans, a little pitifully. 

It has to be the shortest blowjob of his adult life. If there are any that were shorter, Mike doesn’t want to remember them. He wouldn’t want to remember this one if it weren’t for the fact that he never wants to forget it. Ginny Baker sucking him off in the Padres Clubhouse? He’s literally had fantasies about this very scenario. 

When Ginny slinks up his body, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, it’s a good thing Mike’s still coming down otherwise he would do something really stupid. Like kiss that smug smirk off her beautiful face.

“There.” She brushes off his shoulder like she’s talking about a bit of lint. “You gonna stop acting like such an asshole?”

“Don’t know. You gonna stop being such a tease?” 

“Tease?” she bites out, though Mike can see the flush spreading over her cheeks. He’s fucking caught her. 

 _You know what? Screw coming down_. 

In a flash, he spins her around so her cheek presses against the cool wall. He traps her arms between her back and his bulk. He’s aware that his pants are still pooled around his ankles, but it’s not as if Ginny can see the less than imposing figure he cuts. 

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’ve been doing,” he purrs in her ear, vindication blooming in his chest as she fucking shivers. He can feel the heat rolling off her; he knows she’s not cold. 

Still, she plays innocent. “What’ve I been doing, then?” Her hips shift and her fingers wriggle their way into the fabric of his shirt. Rather than pushing him away, though, she tugs, dragging his weight more firmly against her.

“You’ve been parading around here, practically daring me to cross the line.”

Ah. The line. The one he’d told her was too important to fuck with if he was going to stay a Padre after all. The one that’s currently about 1000 miles back in the rearview. 

“I have not!” she protests, even as she arches her back and sends her ass into his crotch. If he were even five years younger, Mike’s sure his cock would already be showing interest again. Goddamn refractory periods.

He delivers a sharp smack to her ass in retaliation, grins when she jumps and her breathing hitches. “I think I’ve got all the proof I need right here.” His hand runs over the spandex she calls pants. Well, not quite pants. “Or was there another reason you decided to break out the booty shorts in October?”

She is, in fact, wearing tiny compression shorts and has been with distressing regularity ever since the regular season ended. This particular set are covered in Nike logos. The ones that have made him develop some kind of dirty, Pavlovian reaction to that stupid swoosh. The ones that he saw upon arrival today and made him want to turn around and walk out rather than risk embarrassing himself. The ones that made him act like an even bigger dick than normal just to keep their wearer at arm’s length. Those tiny compression shorts.

Tiny compression shorts which he is more than happy to drag down her long, toned legs as he drops to the floor himself. He can feel her shift above him, craning around to frown at the hard floor biting into his jacked up knees. Mike nips into her thigh rather than let her say anything. 

“Eyes front, rookie,” he growls as he palms the two perfect globes of her ass. There’s no underwear impeding his view, which should probably be less of a surprise. After all, the tight cling of the shorts would have revealed any panty lines in stark relief. The smell of her arousal is fucking intoxicating this close. 

He doesn’t spread her open until he watches her drag in a breath and lean her forehead against the wall, though. She presses her forearms next to her face, brown skin standing in delicious contrast to the white cinderblock. Once she’s arranged to his liking, he spreads her ass cheeks apart and reveals her soaking pussy. 

Mike dives in, humming his approval as Ginny tilts her hips to give him better access. He feels savage, lashing her glistening lips with his tongue, nipping at the impossibly soft skin of her inner thighs, and scraping his teeth against the hood of her clit. He feels out of control, except he manages to catalogue every single reaction he pulls out of her. Every moan, every broken sigh, every time she calls his name.

Ginny pushes her ass more firmly against Mike’s face and he growls into her cunt. The rumble goes lower when he feels her fingers spear into his hair, pulling him as close as possible. 

“Don’t stop, don’t stop,” she chants as her fingers curl and tug at the roots of his hair. 

He does.

Mike pulls away just enough to leave her room to turn around. When she does, he manhandles her into position, using his shoulders to spread her legs and pinning her hips to the wall with one forearm. She looks tiny like this. The bulk of his arm against her trim hips looks almost vulgar. If it weren’t for her honest to God six pack and the knowledge that she could kick his ass six ways to Sunday, Mike would feel weirder about this display of dominance. Probably. 

Ginny hisses through her teeth as he slides two fingers inside her velvet warm cunt. She hitches a leg over his shoulder and Mike revels at the feel of her calf tensing along his back and the bulky heel of her sneaker thumping against his spine. He lets her pull him in again. 

His lips wrap around her clit and she strains against his forearm, gasping with the effort. Mike keeps finger fucking her slow and languid, his tongue stroking her bundle of nerves at random. Every touch of his tongue sets off a shivery cascade of tremors around his fingers. He wonders if it would feel even better on his cock. Which is pointless since the stupid thing is still stubbornly limp.

“Mike, please,” Ginny pants above him, fingers back in his hair to tilt his head up to her. 

“Please what?” he asks with a wicked grin, rubbing his bearded chin against her swollen clit. 

She gasps because she’s so fucking responsive to his every touch. Her head rolls back and hits the wall. Mike keeps his fingers stroking in and out, waiting for her to ask. 

Finally, she looks back at him, desperation coloring her gaze. “Please make me come.”

He hums in thought. “You gonna stop teasing me?”

Her lips purse and she looks ready to argue. Mike crooks his fingers and watches Ginny Baker’s brain haze over in lust. Still, she manages to gasp, “If you stop being a dick to everyone.”

She has a point. He shrugs the shoulder supporting her leg and Ginny tugs almost playfully at his hair. 

“Yeah, all right,” he agrees, scissoring his fingers to stretch her out more. “Deal?”

Ginny bites down on a keen. She nods eagerly. “Uh huh! Just let me come, Lawson.”

Rather than say anything, Mike sets about getting Ginny Baker off. He pulls out all the stops, wants to make this as good for her as he can, even if this started as some fucked up punishment. Even pressed up against the cold wall of the clubhouse, Mike Lawson wants to blow Ginny’s mind. He slides a third finger inside her and smiles smugly when she shudders and curses at the stretch. When she starts to rock against his forearm, he speeds up his strokes, keeping them long and smooth against the sharp flicks of his tongue on her clit. Ginny’s breath starts to come in harsh pants and Mike curls his fingers so they run up against her G-spot on every thrust. Then, he seals his lips around her clit and _sucks_. 

There’s a hoarse cry somewhere above him and a sudden weight sagging against the arm pressing her to the wall. Ginny curls in on herself as much as she can, clutching at his arm and hair to anchor herself as her cunt explodes into a series of quaking tremors, sucking greedily at his fingers. Mike gentles the suction against her over-sensitive clit, calms his frantic pace to an easy stroke, just enough to help her ride out the aftershocks. Her pussy still spasms around his fingers, a rush of liquid slicking up his palm. He rubs soothingly until he hears Ginny’s breath even out. 

Reluctantly, he disengages from her body, pulling his fingers out of her first and waiting to make sure she’s steady before lowering his arm. Ginny unhooks her leg from his shoulder and he helps her step back into those fucking shorts, pulling them up until she can reach and finish redressing on her own.

He doesn’t do anything stupid, like press kisses to her hipbones before they disappear behind spandex, though the thought plays out in vivid technicolor in his mind’s eye. He doesn’t run his fingers along her legs to see if he can get her to break out in goosebumps. He doesn’t cling to her, beg forgiveness and a second chance.

No, Mike Lawson lurches to his feet and retreats across the hall, pulling his own pants up as he goes. With nearly six feet of space between them, he’s got the sinking suspicion that he’s just made a huge mistake. Whether the mistake was letting this happen in the first place or backing up so quickly, he can’t say for sure. 

For her part, Ginny frowns as if she’s trying to work out an algebra problem in her head. Mike would be more worried, but she’s not looking at him, her gaze pointed at the floor. She’s just thinking hard. 

Apparently coming to a decision, she nods decisively and pushes off the wall. With a little salute to him, she marches toward the door.

“Ginny,” he calls, at a loss and knowing her first name will at least get him a response. He hasn’t used it since that night at the bar. Hasn’t let himself use it. She stops in her tracks, but only turns enough to see him from the corner of her eye. Unable to think of anything better, he asks, “We good?”

“Yeah,” she nods a little woodenly, but still manages to give him her full attention, meet his gaze, and smile a bit, “we’re good.”

“Good,” he echoes as she turns and pushes out of the clubhouse. Over her shoulder, she waves a hand in final farewell and Mike slumps back against the wall. 

_What the fuck just happened?_

Mike goes to scrub a hand across his face, but the impossible, intoxicating smell of Ginny Baker punches through the haze. He convinces himself to go find a sink rather than stoop any lower than he already has today. 

While he scrubs his hands, convinced that her smell still lingers on his fingers and unwilling to admit it’s probably just seared in his brain, an idea slinks to the surface of his mind. 

_If this is what arguing with Ginny Baker gets you, you might need to start picking more fights._

It’s absurd enough to coax a smile to his face. 

What? It’s not like he’s gonna do it. Everything is all good between him and Baker. She said it herself.

If she keeps wearing those shorts, though…

Well, suffice it to say, all bets are off.

**Author's Note:**

> idek anymore. i'm in this thing deeper than i've ever been before.
> 
> let me know what you think!
> 
> come join me in my bawson hole on [tumblr](http://www.megaphonemonday.tumblr.com)


End file.
